Sensory Input
by Pir8grl
Summary: A glimpse into the mind of our favorite crook.
1. Chapter 1

There are far too many people on the bridge right now. It's impossible to move without touching someone. Impossible to hear himself think over their chatter and laughter. He can tolerate these people - some in larger doses than others - but right now, he feels as if he's drowning in too many bodies and too little oxygen, and so he retreats to the cool darkness of his own room.

The view screen shows a scene of a forest in winter, the snowscape casting just enough light to navigate the room. The door slides shut, and he climbs onto his bunk and curls against the wall, and waits for the world to stop spinning. His eyes slip shut as he tries to will his breathing back to an acceptable rhythm.

He wonders how long it will take Sara to notice his escape. She'd been at the center of the party - all shining eyes, bright smile, and laughter. She's wearing a blue top with skinny little straps that left her arms and shoulders bare. She looks amazing - of course she does - but the thought of all those congratulatory hugs and incidental touches landing on bare skin make his stomach twist.

It's no particular surprise when the door slides open and Sara is leaning against the doorframe, bottle in hand.

"You're missing one helluva party."

"You lost me at the word 'party.'"

She raises an eyebrow, and he sighs.

"Look, they're all just a bit too much right now."

"And me?" she asks softly. "Am I too much?"

He shakes his head, and she crosses the room, and hops up on the bunk beside him. She's not touching him, but he curls back a bit farther into his corner anyway. She notices, but doesn't say anything, just kicks off her shoes and takes a swig from the bottle, then passes it to him. He takes a drink, then recaps the bottle and sets it on the shelf.

"How do you do…that?" he finally asks.

"You're gonna have to be a little bit more specific," she counters.

"How do you just…be around other people? Have them so close? And touching you. How does that not make you crazy?"

She looks at him and realizes that even here, in his own quarters, he's still fully dressed, including the combat boots and bulky blue sweater. She curls up her legs and wraps her arms around them, resting her cheek on top of her knees. Her voice is very thoughtful when she speaks.

"I guess it's the way I grew up. My parents would hug us every day. My sister would do my hair or my makeup. I never really learned to fear someone's presence until the Amazo."

"But how do you go from that, to being able to walk through a crowded room of people touching you?"

He glances at her bare arms and shudders.

"After the Amazo, I learned how to defend myself, and I learned how to read other people extremely well. Those people on the bridge are my friends. I trust them with my life. You've seen what happens when someone tries to lay a hand on me without my consent."

"I have, indeed," he drawls.

It's the first time he's sounded like himself since she stepped into the room, and she relaxes just a bit. Then she stretches out one bare foot and pokes him in the leg.

"Boots on the bed? Really?"

He crosses his arms with a sulky pout. "It's my bed."

Sara shifts over and lays her hand on his foot. "It's your bed," she agrees. "Your space. You don't need your armor. Not in here. Not around me."

After a long, long moment, he nods minutely, and Sara goes to work on his boots, unlacing them and dropping them on the floor. She rests her hands lightly on his sock-covered feet, and gives a playful little squeeze.

He is holding himself still with a conscious effort. "After my mother was gone, I learned pretty damn fast that anyone getting in my personal space equaled pain."

Sara tips her head to one side, studying him intently. "I've seen you interact with people lots of times - flirt, even."

"I do what I need to, to get the job done. Doesn't mean I enjoy it." He looks away, and a bitter laugh escapes his lips. "I never got the memo on how to want to be around other people."

"Do you ever? Want to be around other people, I mean?"

"Sometimes."

"Now?"

Another minute nod, and she creeps a bit closer, well and truly into his personal space.

"I don't know how to do this…how to be…close…to another person…not for distraction, or a heist…just…to be."

Sara's smile is very gentle. "That's OK. We'll figure it out."

Scarcely daring to breath, he reaches out and skims a hand down her arm, feeling soft skin and firm muscle beneath his sensitive fingertips.

Sara's smile is tinged with a hint of mischief this time. "See? That wasn't so bad."

"Not bad at all," he agreed.

Ever so slowly, he unfolds himself from his corner. He sets a hand on her waist, and they settle into a comfortable sprawl. Her head rests on his chest, and part of her wants to protest the scratchy wool of his sweater, but she feels his heart beating far too fast beneath her cheek, and holds her peace. One of his hands strokes the soft silk of her hair; the other rests on her back. The fabric of her top is soft under his palm, and he can feel her warmth through the thin cloth. She can feel his hand shaking.

"This isn't a race," she soothes.

"Can we just stay like this?"

"Yeah, we can. For as long as you need."


	2. Chapter 2

Sara shifts in his arms and Leonard instantly stills, like a deer caught in the headlights.

"What is it?"

There's a warm edge of - humor, not laughter, he knows that - in her voice when she replies.

"Don't suppose you've got a shirt that's a bit less…abrasive?"

For a moment, he doesn't even breath. "I don't need my armor here," he mutters.

"That's right," Sara agrees.

Then he very gently nudges her, and she rolls onto her side, giving him room to move. He's wearing a thermal underneath the heavy, military-issue sweater. Of course he is.

Silk, Sara decides, as she settles back against him. Elegantly efficient…and clinging to some nicely understated muscles in all the right ways, though she's not sure he's ready to hear that just yet.

"Better?" he murmurs.

"Mmmm."

His hand hovers over her back, uncertainly. "May I?"

She nods against his chest, and his hands slide up under her top. One palm rests on her waist, the other carefully explores the assortment of scars on her back. His sensitive fingertips are feather-light, gently tracing each mark. He touches that one on her spine, and she shivers.

"Ollie stitched that one. It can be a little sensitive sometimes."

"Think I'll stick with Gideon," he drawls.

Sara can just hear the smirk in his voice.

"We all have scars," she tells him.

He moves to pull his hand away, but it's tangled in the floaty blue fabric of her top.

"Don't stop," Sara whispers. "It feels nice."

He exhales, then carefully lowers his hand. She's so warm. It does feel nice. "OK," he breathes.


End file.
